aisle, the youth swearing by heaven and earth that his beloved should not be torn from his grasp, and the lady sobbing on his shoulder. The parents of the bride, confounded and amazed at this unexpected catastrophe, had nothing to say. They at length attempted to soothe the bridegroom; but he had elevated his eyebrows, and, looking unutterable things, was evidently preparing to walk off; and, this resolution taken, he was not to be stayed. He seized his hat, placed it solemnly under his arm, faced about, and, perceiving that his rival was wholly engrossed in wiping away the tears from the loveliest pair of eyes in the world, he pursed up his mouth to its original formality, and marched straight out of the church. An arrangement now took place between the intruder and the crest-fallen papa and mamma. The latter was left with her daughter, while the two gentlemen went in quest of a new license. The young lady, a little too wilful, it must be owned, pouted and coaxed till the old lady's brow relaxed, and all was harmony. Again the curate was called upon to perform his office, and now radiant smiles played upon the lips of the bride; a soft confusion stole over her cheek, and scarcely waiting until the conclusion of the ceremony, as if she feared a second separation, she clung to her husband's arm, not quitting it even while signing her name in the book. male, who bore the stamp of vulgarity in face, dress, and demeanour; her cheeks highly rouged, and the elegant modesty of her manners changed into a bold recklessness, which seemed to struggle with a sense of shame. I could scarcely believe my eyes; the widow of a nobleman would not surely have been in this degraded state. I was soon convinced of the truth of the surmise which flashed across my mind: she answered to the responses in her maiden name-she had been divorced-and the man to whom she now plighted the vow so lately broken, was he worthy of the sacrifice? I should say, No! He was, I understand, one of the wits of the day; but in person, bearing, and breeding, sadly, wretchedly beneath her former lord. She seemed to feel her situation, notwithstanding all her efforts to shake off the painful recollections that would arise. I saw her press her hand once or twice upon her heart; and when her eyes glanced around, and caught those well-known objects which she had gazed upon in happier days, she heaved deep and frequent sighs. There was less of solemn earnestness than usual about the clergyman who officiated, and he seemed to hurry over the service as though the holy rite were profaned in joining guilt and shame together. But though the marriage ceremony was cut short, it had already detained this dishonoured pair too long: as they were leaving the altar the There was nothing extraordinary about the vestry-door opened, and a gay bridal party denext couple who joined their hands in our scended the steps. It was the divorced lady's church, excepting their surpassing beauty. It deserted husband leading a beautiful young seemed a question which could be styled the creature, the emblem of innocence and purity, handsomer, the lady or the gentleman: both by the hand, and surrounded by a host of were tall, and both had that noble aspect friends splendidly attired. A start, and almost which one is apt to fancy the exclusive gift of a scream of recognition, betrayed the emotion high birth. The bridegroom was a man of which the wretched woman, who had forfeited rank, and the bride little inferior in family her rank in society, sustained at this unexconnection. The friends of each party, mag- pected and most unwished-for meeting. She nificently arrayed, graced the ceremony: alto- had many mortifications to undergo before she gether it seemed a most suitable match, and could get away. During the ceremony of signwas one of the grandest weddings that had ing her name several individuals made excuse taken place for a long time. The whole affair to enter the vestry in order to stare at her; was conducted with the greatest propriety; while the ladies, in passing by, shrunk away hearts, as well as hands, appeared to be joined, as though they feared contamination; and she the lady smiling through the few tears which was obliged to walk half-way down the street, she seemed to shed only because her mother amid a line of gaping menials, before she could and her sisters wept at parting from her, and reach her shabby carriage, which had drawn the rapturous delight of the gentleman break-off to make room for the coroneted coaches of ing the cold and guarded forms prescribed by fashion. I was much amazed to see the same lady only five years afterwards come again to our church to be married. The same she certainly was, but still how different! Wrapped in a plain dishabille; attended by a cringing fe the noble company in the church. There was something I thought exceedingly strange about another wedding which took place nearly at the same period. One chariot contained the whole party, which consisted of an elderly and a young gentleman, and the bride, a very pretty girl, not more than seven teen or eighteen at the utmost. She was handsomely dressed, but in colours, and not with the precision and neatness of a bride; her clothes, though fashionable and expensive, were certainly not entirely new, bearing slight tokens of having been worn before. Neither did she show anything like timidity or bashfulness; asking a hundred questions, as if totally ignorant of the forms and ceremonies usually observed at weddings, laughing heartily at the idea of a set of demure bridemaids, and exclaiming continually, "La, how ridiculous!" The bridegroom lounged upon the chair and benches, and said it would be a fine addition to a parson's income if he could unmarry the fools who were silly enough to slip into his noose; and the old gentleman listened to this idle conversation with a grieved and mortified air. The young couple, it seems, had not very long returned from a journey to Scotland, and were now reunited, to satisfy the scruples of the bride's father, although both appeared as if they would have been as well pleased to have been left at liberty to seize the facilities offered in the north for the annulling, as well as the celebrating, of contracts, too often hastily performed and speedily repented. There was a gentleman, a sort of Blue-beard I must call him, who, having his town-house in our parish, came five times to be married; and I observed that in all his five wives he seemed to make a pretty good choice, at least as far as beauty went. The first was a blooming country nymph, who, except that her hair was powdered, and she wore high-heeled shoes, might have passed, with her large curls pinned stiffly in a row, immense hat, and spreading furbelows, for a belle of the present day: and a mighty comely pair she and the 'squire made. The second wife was a languishing lady of quality, who, annoyed at the bridegroom's oldfashioned prejudice against a special license, kept her salts in her hand, said that the church smelled of dead bodies, and that she should catch some disease and die: and so she did. came the third, buttoned up in a riding-habit, which was an ugly fashion adopted at weddings some fifteen or twenty years ago, with a man's hat upon her head, and a green gauze veil: her partner, then a little inclining to the shady side of life, affected the fooleries of the times, and was dressed in the very tip of the mode. She looked as though she would see him out; but he came again. And the fourth-a pale, pensive, lady-like woman, apparently far gone in a consumption, who seemed, poor thing! as though she had been crossed in love, and now married only for a maintenance, did not Then | last long. The fifth time we had three weddings: the old gentleman and his son espoused two sisters; the former taking care to choose the younger lady, and his daughter married the uncle of her father's bride. It was a droll exhibition; and I think that the elder Benediet would have done well to remain in his widowed state, for he appeared to have caught a Tartar at last, and would have some difficulty in carrying things with the high hand which he had done with his former wives. I have not heard of his death, but I still retain the expectation of seeing his widow. LINES. In the thick city's smoke, can beauty find Yet sometimes, not forgetful of the shade, DR. THOMAS BROWNE 1 From the Bower of Spring, with other poems, by the author of the Paradise of Coquettes. THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN.1 BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. I. At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, Within the sandy bar, The good ship Valdemar. The sunbeams danced upon the waves, And played along her side, And through the cabin-windows streamed In ripples of golden light, that seemed The ripple of the tide. There sat the captain with his friends- Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, Of calm, and storm, and gale. And one was spinning a sailor's yarn The Kobold of the sea; a sprite Who o'er the rigging ran. Sometimes he hammered in the hold, Sometimes upon the mast, Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, Or at the bows he sang and laughed, And made all tight and fast. He helped the sailors at their work, And toiled with jovial din; He helped them hoist and reef the sails, He helped them stow the casks and bales, And heave the anchor in. But woe unto the lazy louts, 1 This, the latest published (April, 1872) poem of "the first poet of America," is, in many respects, the best of his recent productions. Longfellow is as great a favourite in England as he can be in his native land, and this acknowledgment of his power, from Blackwood, will be interesting: "We are thankful that the present age is graced by such a poet as Mr. Longfellow, whose extraordinary accomplishment, and research, and devotion to his high calling can scarcely be overrated. ductions must always command our deep attention, for in them we are certain to meet with great beauty of thought and very elegant diction." His pro Eight bells! and suddenly abaft, With a great rush of rain, Making the ocean white with spume, In darkness like the day of doom, On came the hurricane. The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, And tore the dark in two; A jagged flame, a single jet Of white fire, like a bayonet, That pierced his eyeballs through. Then all around was dark again, But in that single flash of light The captain saw a fearful sight, And thought of the oath he swore. For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare, Her crew of ghosts was all on deck, The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail, And close behind the Carmilhan There rose up from the sea, As from a foundered ship of stone, Three bare and splintered masts alone; They were the Chimneys Three! And onward dashed the Valdemar, She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, But cleft it unaware; As when, careering to her nest, The sea-gull severs with her breast The unresisting air. Again the lightning flashed; again They saw the Carmilhan, Whole as before in hull and spar; But now on board of the Valdemar Stood the Klaboterman. And they all knew their doom was sealed; Then suddenly there came a shock, And louder than wind or sea A cry burst from the crew on deck, The storm and night were passed, the light THE MILLER OF CALDER. [The Misses Corbett were the joint authors of the Cabinet for Youth-a series of sketches and anecdotes; Lessons for the Heart-a selection of the best examples for the improvement of the young; and of Elucidations of Interesting Passages in the Sacred Volume, drawn from the works of the most eminent commentators and travellers. Miss M. Corbett produced in 1841 the New Happy Week, or Holidays at Beechwood, which, at the time of publication, obtained considerable attention from parents desirous of placing in the hands of their children a book that was at once amusing and instructive.] One fine evening towards the end of harvest, as Robin Baillie, the miller of Calder, was sitting at his cheerful fireside, a gentle knock was heard at the door. "Rise, my bairn," said the miller, "and see wha that is." Peggy, who was busy at her wheel, put it aside, and went to the door. The miller continued to pore over an old almanac, till roused by his wife saying she wondered what had become of Peggy,-that the porridge was ready to be dished-and the milk was not brought from the milk-house. "Is Peggy no come back?" said the miller. "I dinna like outgangings at night. If it's ony decent acquaintance Peggy kens she's welcome to bring them in." "Hout, gudeman," said his wife, "ye maunna be sae strict. Mind ye were ance young yoursell; besides, Peggy is sae douce, we may maist leave her to her ain guidance.' 66 Their conference was here interrupted by the appearance of the subject of it. "Wha was that at the door?" said the miller. "It was Willie Stewart," said Peggy, in a hesitating voice. "My certie," said Robin, "but he's no blate to come rapping at my door, after the ill turn he did me no sae lang ago! What did he want?" "Oh, father!" said Peggy, "will ye never learn no to be sac hasty? Ye ken Willie threeps he never did such a thing, and that somebody 1 From the Atlantic Monthly Magazine. |